Shortly before I came home (when I probably should have been focusing on fitting all my purchases into my suitcase) I realized that I felt totally disconnected from the world.
I'm a bit of a news junkie, by which I mean I check a dozen news sites daily if not hourly (via a news reader, quite possibly my favorite recent invention) to see what's affecting the countries in which Mission of Mercy works. But because the aforementioned blackouts knocked out the Wifi and I wasn't sure how much I could access the internet without running up the phone bill with astronomical international charges, I pretty much turned off my access to the wider world.
So there I was, dusting off my suitcase-spatial-reasoning skills when I suddenly thought, "Hey, I wonder if they've caught Gaddafi?"
Yup, folks, I am that much of a dork. I had many other pressing things in front of me, but instead I was logging on to my newsreader -- no news on the world's favorite crackpot dictator -- but Blackberry had been out of global commission for most of the week. Maybe I wasn't the only one out of the loop.
[Hearing the news this morning that rebel forces had caught Gaddafi/wounded him/most likely killed him still chilled me. In most of the regions where Mission of Mercy cares for children, there is a long history of oppressive regimes more intent on lining their own pockets than safeguarding their children's future. It will be interesting to see what comes of Libya, like most of the new Arab world, now that the media may finally be free to explore the depths of the burdens they've inherited.]
On a lighter note, I'm proof that it pays to stay informed. Much of my role on the trip was to answer questions the ladies had about the programs, sponsorship, Kenya in general. My favorite moment was when one lady asked where people in the slums went to the bathroom. (This was less than 24 hours after we had hopscotched over channels of human waste while holding the hands of our escorts -- little children who were thrilled to hold the hand of a mzungu while we walked through the slum -- wasn't it obvious where they relieved themselves?)
Yet one of our in-country staff tried valiantly to answer, describing how one NGO had gone around building pit latrines to try and alleviate the sanitation issue (having prayed the Lord would keep our feet from slipping into the black sludge, I'd say their efforts did not make a dent). But then he explained the other methods often used in the slums: a flying toilet.
Lady: A what?
Staff (emphasis on accent): Eh Flaahing Toylayt.
Lady: Wait, what?
Staff (moving his hands as if they were wings): Flaah-ing. Flaah-ing toylayt!
[This goes on for a minute until it's clear the woman does not understand his charade.]
Kate: It's when they go in a plastic bag, tie it up, then launch it over the wall to get it off their hands... umm, literally.
Lady (and the rest of the bus): [shocked silence.]
Staff to Kate: Are you sure you've never lived here before?
Kate: Ah, no. I just read a lot.
And that, dear reader, is proof that God is in charge. Why else would I a) read enough to know about flying toilets, b) remember what they are, c) be able to recall that fact after a week of constant explanation and exposition, and d) earn the respect of a field staff worker when e) the real truth is I have a propensity for remembering anything involving bodily functions thanks to my family background. (It's how we Eppersons roll, much to my mother's chagrin.)
I've always wondered whether or not all this random knowledge would benefit me in the end. Now I know the truth. As the staff person more fully explained, "There are certain areas where you do not go at night because you never know what will hit you in the face." I think I'll remember that fact, too.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Our Safe Return
Friends, I wanted to let you know that we made it back. I haven't heard from everyone but I believe everyone made it home in one piece. Including our luggage. One friend reminded me that he didn't care about our luggage, but when you've dragged it through 9 airports, believe me -- you learn to care! ; )
I wish I had been able to write more while I was there. We truly experienced what it means to live in Kenya; we were not excluded from the rolling blackouts. I think the power went out every day at least once. Sometimes (such as when we were in Kijaido near the project we served in Emarti) it was because we overloaded the system. A large group of American women will do that, I've learned, almost every time.
The first blackout came on the evening of my birthday just as we finished dinner. I assumed it was a trick, that soon the cook would come out with a cake and candles. The cake came, but no candles and no power after it, either. My gift to myself was that I showered before dinner -- everyone else had to wait or accept a bone-chillingly cold rinse.
When the power went out, so did the Wifi, and hence you saw very few posts from me. But now I am back and trying to sort everything out -- the first load of laundry is in the wash, and my living room is covered with gifts and newspaper. I slept for 15 hours and feel like I could sleep even more but I'm trying to convince myself to wait. Maybe I'll go consult the shower, where I needn't worry that I'll trip the breaker and have to figure something else out. Thanking God for safe travels and hot water...
I wish I had been able to write more while I was there. We truly experienced what it means to live in Kenya; we were not excluded from the rolling blackouts. I think the power went out every day at least once. Sometimes (such as when we were in Kijaido near the project we served in Emarti) it was because we overloaded the system. A large group of American women will do that, I've learned, almost every time.
The first blackout came on the evening of my birthday just as we finished dinner. I assumed it was a trick, that soon the cook would come out with a cake and candles. The cake came, but no candles and no power after it, either. My gift to myself was that I showered before dinner -- everyone else had to wait or accept a bone-chillingly cold rinse.
When the power went out, so did the Wifi, and hence you saw very few posts from me. But now I am back and trying to sort everything out -- the first load of laundry is in the wash, and my living room is covered with gifts and newspaper. I slept for 15 hours and feel like I could sleep even more but I'm trying to convince myself to wait. Maybe I'll go consult the shower, where I needn't worry that I'll trip the breaker and have to figure something else out. Thanking God for safe travels and hot water...
What I Didn't Expect
This is a post I started on the 9th before the power went out... now I'm revisiting it in an attempt to process through all I saw.
I keep thinking back to yesterday morning when we were walking through the slum. I think I mentioned that I was nervous about this because I had never seen such poverty. I was afraid it would be overwhelming.
Instead, I found it beautiful.
Before we left the bus, one of our country directors gave us instructions -- don't take photos without asking, always stay close to the group, don't give the kids candy or you may be mobbed. (This one is very true, but it applies to adults as well as kids. I never knew a Jolly Rancher could be so dangerous!)
The church we visited in the first slum wasn't that far into the slum itself, a couple blocks really, which was a blessing. The road was rutted -- beyond rutted, actually, and because it rained so often while we were in Nairobi, parts of the road rose up to greet you at unbelievable angles. Drops of several feet, bumps that could eat your tire, axle, wheel well and all... but that wasn't just the road in the slum, it was all over Nairobi.
So we tread carefully in more ways than one.
Still, once at the church where the corrugated tin shone and the windows were thankfully open, we sat in plastic chairs. We were late, the worship was already going, and we listened in awe as they turned on the sound system to be sure everyone heard -- not just us in the building itself, but those all around. The place next door to the church also had its dance music on -- a different kind of music if you know what I mean.
From where I was sitting, I could glance out the window. Just outside the church was a pathway between the next building, which for some reason was lined with barbed wire. Beyond that, a laundry line where two women were hanging clothes as little ones played around them. Throughout the service I could hear them shake out the clothes then smooth them over the line. In the depth of this place where many people (including myself) expected filth, instead we found cleanliness. Pride.
Beauty.
I saw it in the faces of those we met. I saw it in the sweat pouring down Pastor Williams' face as he shared the Truth. I saw it un upraised hands and voices uninhibitedly praising God. I saw it in the meekness of children who would respond smile for smile. In the way others would offer us their chairs, in how the offering plate was passed and everyone contributed something -- the widow's mite made real. I saw it in their weathered hands as they reached out to clasp mine.
Before I left on this trip, I prayed that somehow I would "add to the beauty." What I realize know is that I needed to see the beauty first before I could ever know how to add to it. I still don't know what that will look like, but I do know this: the people in this slum are beautiful. So are their homes. They are beautiful in unexpected ways, and I am grateful to have seen it.
I keep thinking back to yesterday morning when we were walking through the slum. I think I mentioned that I was nervous about this because I had never seen such poverty. I was afraid it would be overwhelming.
Instead, I found it beautiful.
Before we left the bus, one of our country directors gave us instructions -- don't take photos without asking, always stay close to the group, don't give the kids candy or you may be mobbed. (This one is very true, but it applies to adults as well as kids. I never knew a Jolly Rancher could be so dangerous!)
The church we visited in the first slum wasn't that far into the slum itself, a couple blocks really, which was a blessing. The road was rutted -- beyond rutted, actually, and because it rained so often while we were in Nairobi, parts of the road rose up to greet you at unbelievable angles. Drops of several feet, bumps that could eat your tire, axle, wheel well and all... but that wasn't just the road in the slum, it was all over Nairobi.
So we tread carefully in more ways than one.
Still, once at the church where the corrugated tin shone and the windows were thankfully open, we sat in plastic chairs. We were late, the worship was already going, and we listened in awe as they turned on the sound system to be sure everyone heard -- not just us in the building itself, but those all around. The place next door to the church also had its dance music on -- a different kind of music if you know what I mean.
From where I was sitting, I could glance out the window. Just outside the church was a pathway between the next building, which for some reason was lined with barbed wire. Beyond that, a laundry line where two women were hanging clothes as little ones played around them. Throughout the service I could hear them shake out the clothes then smooth them over the line. In the depth of this place where many people (including myself) expected filth, instead we found cleanliness. Pride.
Beauty.
I saw it in the faces of those we met. I saw it in the sweat pouring down Pastor Williams' face as he shared the Truth. I saw it un upraised hands and voices uninhibitedly praising God. I saw it in the meekness of children who would respond smile for smile. In the way others would offer us their chairs, in how the offering plate was passed and everyone contributed something -- the widow's mite made real. I saw it in their weathered hands as they reached out to clasp mine.
Before I left on this trip, I prayed that somehow I would "add to the beauty." What I realize know is that I needed to see the beauty first before I could ever know how to add to it. I still don't know what that will look like, but I do know this: the people in this slum are beautiful. So are their homes. They are beautiful in unexpected ways, and I am grateful to have seen it.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
So Much Beauty
Much love to you! Oh, and I had a wonderful birthday... more on that later!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
We had a very full day today, starting with a hearty breakfast before we loaded into the large bus to take us to a nearby slum community for church. The church itself was a plant from the church Hapi attends (Hapi is the Kenya country director).
I was fairly nervous about this part. I didn't know how far we'd be walking into the slum, but it turned out not far at all, which was good because the road was rutted red clay with grooves deep enough to swallow a tire, not to mention your foot. To our right and left were tiny shops selling everything from charcoal to fruit to clothing. Some residents simply spread their wares in front of them.
But all of the shoppers stopped when we started walking through. It felt so awkward, like I couldn't tell if we were the parade or they were. We soon made it to the church which was very nice. The concrete floor was stained to make the reddish dirt tracked in less obvious. The walls and ceiling were corrugated metal, with glass windows at each end. We sat in plastic chairs for the bulk of the service. The music was acapella and the joy with which they praised God infectious.
The pastor spoke and gave a profound message about leaving the past behind. He got into it so much it felt like he was preaching just to you. Hapi translated so well that it was almost call and response, building toward greater things. I recorded part of it because it was so good and everyone so still listening intently.
I was taken by the sounds around me as listened to the sermon. Outside one window, I could see barbed wire and women pinning laundry to a line to dry. At another point, a little one started running down the side of the building, making a da-da-da-da-da-da sound as he ran his hand across the wall as he ran.
The kids are wonderful, very trusting and yet somewhat shy. I was an instant hit because of the video camera I've been trying to use.
After lunch we played with some sponsored kids who had come all the way up with a social worker from the project as well as an aunt with a little baby. They drove more than 10 hours and were totally zonked for most of the day. Watching them slowly open up to their sponsor was so sweet. The boy was 11 and very solemn, as was Harusi, the 5 year old. The other girl was a piece of work, but very eager to smile with few prompts.
Tonight we packed up to move south to the Emarti Maasai region, which means I'll be without internet for the next few days. I had really hoped to post more but am exhausted, so I'm wrapping this up here. I'll post more when we get back to on Thursday or Friday.
I was fairly nervous about this part. I didn't know how far we'd be walking into the slum, but it turned out not far at all, which was good because the road was rutted red clay with grooves deep enough to swallow a tire, not to mention your foot. To our right and left were tiny shops selling everything from charcoal to fruit to clothing. Some residents simply spread their wares in front of them.But all of the shoppers stopped when we started walking through. It felt so awkward, like I couldn't tell if we were the parade or they were. We soon made it to the church which was very nice. The concrete floor was stained to make the reddish dirt tracked in less obvious. The walls and ceiling were corrugated metal, with glass windows at each end. We sat in plastic chairs for the bulk of the service. The music was acapella and the joy with which they praised God infectious.
The pastor spoke and gave a profound message about leaving the past behind. He got into it so much it felt like he was preaching just to you. Hapi translated so well that it was almost call and response, building toward greater things. I recorded part of it because it was so good and everyone so still listening intently.
The kids are wonderful, very trusting and yet somewhat shy. I was an instant hit because of the video camera I've been trying to use.
After lunch we played with some sponsored kids who had come all the way up with a social worker from the project as well as an aunt with a little baby. They drove more than 10 hours and were totally zonked for most of the day. Watching them slowly open up to their sponsor was so sweet. The boy was 11 and very solemn, as was Harusi, the 5 year old. The other girl was a piece of work, but very eager to smile with few prompts.
Tonight we packed up to move south to the Emarti Maasai region, which means I'll be without internet for the next few days. I had really hoped to post more but am exhausted, so I'm wrapping this up here. I'll post more when we get back to on Thursday or Friday.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
How To Pray For Us (i.e., Me)
If you're interested in lifting this trip up in prayer (please, please pray for us!) then I have added the calendar on the right side of the blog to help.
For each day of the trip, I added descriptions of what we'll be doing that day as well as what type of prayer I think will be needed.
To read that day's requests and activities, simply click on the description ("Prep Day," "Travel Day," etc.) under the date. The information should drop down from there, and some days are more detailed than others so to see everything, you may be sent to the main Google calendar page.
I will try and blog of my own personal thoughts here if I'm able. For how the trip impacts others as sponsors and Mission of Mercy participants, you'll find those posts at http://www.missionofmercyblog.org/. If we have internet, that is.
One Kate-specific request: I am going on this trip to document what God is doing through the Maasai and American women. I'm primarily a writer, but I've been asked to video and photograph, too. Not going to lie -- this makes me nervous! Please pray with me that I have the eyes to see and the ears to hear the story God wants me to tell. And that all the equipment works and overcomes any human errors! I am worried that it will be hard to balance being a witness and a participant... I want to experience this trip as fully as possible while still accomplishing all I am needed to do for Mission of Mercy.
Thanks, friends. I fully believe I would not be here without you, praying me there!
For each day of the trip, I added descriptions of what we'll be doing that day as well as what type of prayer I think will be needed.
To read that day's requests and activities, simply click on the description ("Prep Day," "Travel Day," etc.) under the date. The information should drop down from there, and some days are more detailed than others so to see everything, you may be sent to the main Google calendar page.
I will try and blog of my own personal thoughts here if I'm able. For how the trip impacts others as sponsors and Mission of Mercy participants, you'll find those posts at http://www.missionofmercyblog.org/. If we have internet, that is.
One Kate-specific request: I am going on this trip to document what God is doing through the Maasai and American women. I'm primarily a writer, but I've been asked to video and photograph, too. Not going to lie -- this makes me nervous! Please pray with me that I have the eyes to see and the ears to hear the story God wants me to tell. And that all the equipment works and overcomes any human errors! I am worried that it will be hard to balance being a witness and a participant... I want to experience this trip as fully as possible while still accomplishing all I am needed to do for Mission of Mercy.
Thanks, friends. I fully believe I would not be here without you, praying me there!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
What Do You Have For Me, God?
That's the question several friends have encouraged me to pray, and so I've tried. This past weekend I had the sweet gift of a cross-Colorado drive. The real reason for the trip was visiting with a dear friend, but Brett also encouraged me to think of it as major processing time -- perhaps the only time I'd get before I depart on October 7. (He's so wise, my husband. So glad he's willing to send me away to ensure my heart is where it should be before this trip. Love him.)
Anyway, I literally drove into the fiery sunset... and then on into the night, on an unfamiliar road with many hairpin turns. I was crawling up Independence Pass, singing and praying through the blind curves until I crested and began the descent.
Okay, this is sounding corny, but it all felt so apropos. Starting out with hints of beauty, finding myself in unfamiliar territory, plunged into a deeper darkness than I expected -- I felt like I was driving through the last 10 years of my life.
It had been far too long since I had such extended time to converse with God -- something I have avoided by choice, admittedly. It was precious and I knew it, so my main focus was on that big question, "What do you have for me, God?"
Because I turned 30 last year, I had already been asking that question. I haven't received any tangible answers, but Kenya is a new context and I'm trying to go expectantly. These past few weeks in particular have been filled with more frustration than peace -- why am I here, what do you want me to do, God? Will my purpose and calling be revealed on this trip?
That's what I'm really praying for, I guess. To explore this niggling idea -- that my giftings could be in answer to the challenge of opening people's eyes to how God wants us to work in His world. I remember having that initial thought in high school, when I was discovering the power of my own voice. I could be a writer, I thought. But I knew then that it would be scary and hard and personal, and so I pushed it away.
Then in my last semester of college I read an article about the Rwandan genocide for a political science class. I'm still haunted by the power of the story the author chose to tell, the way she framed the larger issue (how could this happen?) with the stories of the people on the ground. And a small voice inside of me said, I want to do that. I want to write in this way, to open people's eyes. There are stories that need to be told.
I heard that voice again five years ago when I read a book by Tracy Kidder, a journalist whose brilliant long-form storytelling style easily transported me to central Haiti, where Dr. Paul Farmer set up a clinic to combat drug-resistant tuberculosis. Along the way, he learned that misunderstanding the culture and tradition of others is a more of a threat than the communicable disease. I finished the book (called Mountains Beyond Mountains, check it out) and immediately reread it, savoring the way the words leapt at me, standing out like beads of sweat in the humid Haitian air. And that little voice whispered again, you can do this too, you know.
This is already a terribly long post, but I'm processing through it all. I think with my job at Mission of Mercy, I've heard that voice over and over again. And as hopeful as I am that I could be used in such a way, I'm also terrified. I can't ignore the pull in my soul, but can I really do it?
Right now, Sara Groves' song "Add to the Beauty" is my theme song, one I sang at full tilt on that drive through the turning aspen last weekend. I guess it's more of a prayer than a theme song, because this is what I want so desperately to do.
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts, written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
Okay, this is sounding corny, but it all felt so apropos. Starting out with hints of beauty, finding myself in unfamiliar territory, plunged into a deeper darkness than I expected -- I felt like I was driving through the last 10 years of my life.
It had been far too long since I had such extended time to converse with God -- something I have avoided by choice, admittedly. It was precious and I knew it, so my main focus was on that big question, "What do you have for me, God?"
Because I turned 30 last year, I had already been asking that question. I haven't received any tangible answers, but Kenya is a new context and I'm trying to go expectantly. These past few weeks in particular have been filled with more frustration than peace -- why am I here, what do you want me to do, God? Will my purpose and calling be revealed on this trip?
That's what I'm really praying for, I guess. To explore this niggling idea -- that my giftings could be in answer to the challenge of opening people's eyes to how God wants us to work in His world. I remember having that initial thought in high school, when I was discovering the power of my own voice. I could be a writer, I thought. But I knew then that it would be scary and hard and personal, and so I pushed it away.
Then in my last semester of college I read an article about the Rwandan genocide for a political science class. I'm still haunted by the power of the story the author chose to tell, the way she framed the larger issue (how could this happen?) with the stories of the people on the ground. And a small voice inside of me said, I want to do that. I want to write in this way, to open people's eyes. There are stories that need to be told.
I heard that voice again five years ago when I read a book by Tracy Kidder, a journalist whose brilliant long-form storytelling style easily transported me to central Haiti, where Dr. Paul Farmer set up a clinic to combat drug-resistant tuberculosis. Along the way, he learned that misunderstanding the culture and tradition of others is a more of a threat than the communicable disease. I finished the book (called Mountains Beyond Mountains, check it out) and immediately reread it, savoring the way the words leapt at me, standing out like beads of sweat in the humid Haitian air. And that little voice whispered again, you can do this too, you know.
This is already a terribly long post, but I'm processing through it all. I think with my job at Mission of Mercy, I've heard that voice over and over again. And as hopeful as I am that I could be used in such a way, I'm also terrified. I can't ignore the pull in my soul, but can I really do it?
Right now, Sara Groves' song "Add to the Beauty" is my theme song, one I sang at full tilt on that drive through the turning aspen last weekend. I guess it's more of a prayer than a theme song, because this is what I want so desperately to do.
We come with beautiful secrets
We come with purposes written on our hearts, written on our souls
We come to every new morning
With possibilities only we can hold, that only we can hold
Redemption comes in strange place, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
It comes in small inspirations
It brings redemption to life and work
To our lives and our work
It comes in loving community
It comes in helping a soul find it's worth
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out the best of who we are
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
This is grace, an invitation to be beautiful
This is grace, an invitation
Redemption comes in strange places, small spaces
Calling out our best
And I want to add to the beauty
To tell a better story
I want to shine with the light
That's burning up inside
Friday, September 16, 2011
Paradigm Shift
Now you may be thinking (judging by the title) that I'm talking about how going to Kenya is going to change the way I view the world.
I fully expect it to... but not in the way you might think.
When I asked to go on the trip, I actually asked to go to Asia. I was being my ueber-practical self and had analyzed the content we had in house -- photos, videos, stories, etc. -- and felt that Asia both had the strongest connection to the ministry yet the weakest consistency of content. So I wrote up a basic presentation, went to my boss, and straight-up asked.
And instead of Asia, my boss offered up Kenya.
That wasn't an option I had anticipated.
Having seen others go on the trip, it also wasn't something I wanted to turn down.
A quick history of the trip: it's called Women's Circle of Caring because two women were blown away by the beauty of the Maasai people as well as their needs. Because the Maasai are pastoralists (animal herders) the men take their livestock further and further out in search of good grassland and water, something increasingly difficult in this time of extended drought in the Horn of Africa. This means the women and children are fending for themselves and doing an admirable job. We have much to learn from them.
Yet we (Mission of Mercy) were also able to meet some of their needs for a clean water well and even (through a very generous donor who happens to be going on my trip) a simple building to be used as the community center, project building, and church.
This is third year for Women's Circle of Caring to go to the Emarti Maasai region. I am most eager to see how they respond when they see many of the women from previous trips have returned -- last year, when they recognized some of the women, the Maasai villagers burst into tears. They were convinced that we wouldn't come back. I think they may better understand our commitment now, and I am eager to see what God does with it.
But because I had mentally prepared for an Asia trip, I had to evaluate my goals. Were they the same? Quite simply, I wanted to meet the women and the children, to witness how their lives have changed because of the project, to see the pure joy in their faith.
In terms of Kenya, I really wanted to focus on this rather than the fact that I was the youngest person on this trip. (And by youngest, I mean by more than 20 years.)
I couldn't quite get over that bit. I tried to have a sense of humor about it, but the truth is I was nervous. It went beyond how I would deal with a dozen post-menopausal women in tank tops and capris when even in the heat of central Africa I'd be in a scarf and probably a fleece. How would we relate? Most of them had been to Africa before, even to this very project in Kenya, and I -- the Mission of Mercy employee -- was a newbie.
I didn't like that idea.
But I realized that I had a chose to make here. I could continue to dwell on the age differences, or I could look at it as an opportunity. You see, I've always been the oldest. Oldest child, oldest in my group of friends. I was an RA in college, choosing to take on a level of responsibility while others had the typical college experience. I've always been the mother hen.
So while I fully expect to have my mind blown by Kenya and the women and children of the Maasai, the first paradigm to fall will be of my own making. I can anticipate the awkwardness, or I can relish the opportunity to be the baby for once in my life. I'm starting to learn more about the women on my trip -- as scary as it is for me to be the inexperienced one, these women are risking things in a whole new way. They could stay content in their current situations, but instead they are choosing to venture out and learn and serve.
I hope to learn a lot from the Maasai women, but I think I have a lot to learn from my fellow trippers, too.
I fully expect it to... but not in the way you might think.
When I asked to go on the trip, I actually asked to go to Asia. I was being my ueber-practical self and had analyzed the content we had in house -- photos, videos, stories, etc. -- and felt that Asia both had the strongest connection to the ministry yet the weakest consistency of content. So I wrote up a basic presentation, went to my boss, and straight-up asked.
And instead of Asia, my boss offered up Kenya.
That wasn't an option I had anticipated.
Having seen others go on the trip, it also wasn't something I wanted to turn down.
A quick history of the trip: it's called Women's Circle of Caring because two women were blown away by the beauty of the Maasai people as well as their needs. Because the Maasai are pastoralists (animal herders) the men take their livestock further and further out in search of good grassland and water, something increasingly difficult in this time of extended drought in the Horn of Africa. This means the women and children are fending for themselves and doing an admirable job. We have much to learn from them.
Yet we (Mission of Mercy) were also able to meet some of their needs for a clean water well and even (through a very generous donor who happens to be going on my trip) a simple building to be used as the community center, project building, and church.
This is third year for Women's Circle of Caring to go to the Emarti Maasai region. I am most eager to see how they respond when they see many of the women from previous trips have returned -- last year, when they recognized some of the women, the Maasai villagers burst into tears. They were convinced that we wouldn't come back. I think they may better understand our commitment now, and I am eager to see what God does with it.
But because I had mentally prepared for an Asia trip, I had to evaluate my goals. Were they the same? Quite simply, I wanted to meet the women and the children, to witness how their lives have changed because of the project, to see the pure joy in their faith.
In terms of Kenya, I really wanted to focus on this rather than the fact that I was the youngest person on this trip. (And by youngest, I mean by more than 20 years.)
I couldn't quite get over that bit. I tried to have a sense of humor about it, but the truth is I was nervous. It went beyond how I would deal with a dozen post-menopausal women in tank tops and capris when even in the heat of central Africa I'd be in a scarf and probably a fleece. How would we relate? Most of them had been to Africa before, even to this very project in Kenya, and I -- the Mission of Mercy employee -- was a newbie.
I didn't like that idea.
But I realized that I had a chose to make here. I could continue to dwell on the age differences, or I could look at it as an opportunity. You see, I've always been the oldest. Oldest child, oldest in my group of friends. I was an RA in college, choosing to take on a level of responsibility while others had the typical college experience. I've always been the mother hen.
So while I fully expect to have my mind blown by Kenya and the women and children of the Maasai, the first paradigm to fall will be of my own making. I can anticipate the awkwardness, or I can relish the opportunity to be the baby for once in my life. I'm starting to learn more about the women on my trip -- as scary as it is for me to be the inexperienced one, these women are risking things in a whole new way. They could stay content in their current situations, but instead they are choosing to venture out and learn and serve.
I hope to learn a lot from the Maasai women, but I think I have a lot to learn from my fellow trippers, too.
Friday, September 9, 2011
The Long Journey There
How did I end up going to Kenya?
I was reminded last night that it started so many years ago -- last night God led several friends to speak truth into my heart using verses He had given to me almost a decade ago, perched on a rock in the only rainstorm Colorado Springs experienced in the dangerously dry summer of 2002.
Since that day -- when God smacked me over the head with His unchanging love and a hope for a different future -- I have wandered around a strange wilderness of fear, loathing, doubt, depression. I have found the truest friends and lost many more.
But now I feel I'm coming out of it. And I am praying that going to Kenya will cement that. I've worked at Mission of Mercy for nearly 3 years, and in so many ways I'm amazed to see how God aligned everything from a Political Science and English degree to a growing passion for justice issues to bring me to a job as a writer for an international organization seeking to change the lives of children.
Yet those three years have been hard, mostly because I've been writing from the depths of my imaginative heart about something I've wanted -- but feared -- seeing: what poverty does to a child, and what little it takes to change their lives when the body of Christ recognizes the call.
SO at the suggestion of a coworker and friend, I want to write about my expectations. And then, when I get back, I can see just what God was doing in my heart. So here goes...
I was reminded last night that it started so many years ago -- last night God led several friends to speak truth into my heart using verses He had given to me almost a decade ago, perched on a rock in the only rainstorm Colorado Springs experienced in the dangerously dry summer of 2002.
Since that day -- when God smacked me over the head with His unchanging love and a hope for a different future -- I have wandered around a strange wilderness of fear, loathing, doubt, depression. I have found the truest friends and lost many more.
But now I feel I'm coming out of it. And I am praying that going to Kenya will cement that. I've worked at Mission of Mercy for nearly 3 years, and in so many ways I'm amazed to see how God aligned everything from a Political Science and English degree to a growing passion for justice issues to bring me to a job as a writer for an international organization seeking to change the lives of children.
Yet those three years have been hard, mostly because I've been writing from the depths of my imaginative heart about something I've wanted -- but feared -- seeing: what poverty does to a child, and what little it takes to change their lives when the body of Christ recognizes the call.
SO at the suggestion of a coworker and friend, I want to write about my expectations. And then, when I get back, I can see just what God was doing in my heart. So here goes...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)